Today I planned a few hours of immersion in writing, to the exclusion of all the other household stuff I know that I should really get around to. I'd decided to make writing important today - and then everything changed.
The vet, who had been conducting tests on our family dog - who over the last six years has proven to be the most wonderful, gentle companion we could have wished for - had some crushing news for us. The dog was being tested for a knee injury, and some very serious other orthopaedic issues had been discovered. In a nutshell, the damage is so massive, the cost of the remedial treatments (operations and physio) is an order of magnitude more than we can possibly afford, even despite having pet insurance. The upshot is that we face a severely truncated time with our best friend, and his life will probably be cut cruelly short.
At times like this, writing means so little. I need to be with my friend.